


Kill Karen Page - Part 5 - Gotchya

by KastleInTheSky



Series: Kill Karen Page [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KastleInTheSky/pseuds/KastleInTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bullseye's death toll rises, and he gets dangerously close to Karen and Frank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Karen Page - Part 5 - Gotchya

**Author's Note:**

> He's heeeerreeeeeeeee :)  
> Kastle's really gonna pick up next chapter, so thanks to everyone for being patient!  
> Part 6 coming soon! Thanks for reading!  
> \- KITS

Karen blindly and frantically raced the ten or so blocks in between Frank’s apartment and Foggy’s office. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she was sobbing believing the absolute worst – Fisk had found Foggy before he could find her, and killed him in retaliation. She wiped snot and tears off of her face as she ran. She would never be able to forgive herself if anything had happened to Foggy, a person she indubitably considered to be her best friend. She had only just seen him a few nights ago, when she’d gotten a tour of his new high-rise apartment on the Upper West Side and shown him the draft of the article they’d worked on for the Bulletin about his case. If anything terrible had happened to him, she thought, if anything bad happened to Foggy because of her…

Karen sharply turned the last corner onto 45th Street between 8th and 9th Avenues, where she was greeted by about six patrol cars and two large ambulances, all with sirens and lights blaring in the street, blinding Karen slightly as she raised her hands over her eyes to help her focus on who was being lifted into the ambulances. She saw one body covered in a white tarp on a gurney being wheeled out of the building. She gripped at her chest and let out a huge sob, at the verge of hyperventilating. Then, Karen began to weep uncontrollably, so much so that multiple police officer and emergency workers turned to look at her concerned. Being wheeled out on a gurney, very dazed looking but very much alive was Foggy with gauze on his forehead, bruises on his face, and his arm in a makeshift sling. She ran at him, but was halted by a police officer.  
“No pedestrians passed this point, ma’am, I’m sorry,” the officer said. She looked at the cop’s face. He was young, very much so, probably only a rookie officer, Karen deduced, not to mention her referred to he as “ma’am”. Hopefully he was as sympathetic as he was young.  
“Please,” she begged. “Please, that’s my bother!” She pointed to Foggy. “Please, you’ve got to let me over there! He’s the only family I have! I need to talk to him! I need to make sure he’s okay!”

It worked. The young cop’s face fell into a compassionate half smile, and he turned his shoulder aside so that Karen could pass.  
“Thank you so much,” she blathered. “Thank you so much!”  
She broke over to Foggy in a sprint, calling his name. Foggy looked up to meet her gaze, and he looked genuinely happy to see her.  
“We need to talk,” he said, his tone not at all matching the joy that he seemed to evoke in his face. “Meet me at the hospital, they’re taking me to Metro General now. Meet me there, we really need to talk!”  
“Okay, okay,” Karen promised breathily. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll be there!”  
Foggy was loaded into the ambulance by paramedics and the doors shut loudly as it began to drive away in the direction of Metro General. Karen backed away, still slightly stuffy from crying, and just as she started to head towards the hospital, an angry voice yelled out - "YOU!" Karen whipped around to see the unwelcoming figure of Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney charging towards her, eyes locked on her sharply.  
"We gotta talk," he called out to her. For the time being, Karen played dumb.  
"Brett... I mean... Sergeant... what happened?! Did Foggy say who did this to him?"  
"He did..." Brett asserted, "and he said the guy was lookin' for you." Karen's stomach dropped, and she gulped. It was confirmed; it was Fisk, most likely Bullseye. She continued to feign ignorance.  
"For me?! What do you mean, for me?!"  
"C'mon, Miss Page, don't play with me," Brett recommended. He pointed in the direction in which the ambulance had gone.  
"That man is one of the biggest idiots I have ever seen in my whole life," he started. "And when you, him, and Matt Murdock get together, you're always stickin' your noses where they don't belong. So, you're gonna tell me that you don't know, don't have any idea, who would've wanted to hurt you, or hurt him?"

Admittedly, Karen thought about telling Brett everything, if only for the protection of people who weren't involved, like Foggy, but then she thought of Frank. Frank was still considered an escaped felon, and would undoubtedly be arrested again if the police knew he was involved, and he was way to valuable to Karen for her to risk that. Again, she lied.  
"I have no idea," she responded. "Now, if you'd let me get over to the hospital to check on him, I can at least see how he's doing. I'm not a suspect, am I? Do you need to bring me in?" Karen obviously knew the answer, and she did enjoy the defeated, bitter look on Brett's face as he answered her.  
"Go," he said. "And if you hear anything, let me know, alright?" he added sarcastically. He turned away and over to a group of Junior Detectives and uniformed officers all writing meticulously in their memo books. Karen heard him mumble under his breath,  
"Crazy-ass people..."

Karen huffed her way over towards the hospital. She'd grabbed her phone off the kitchen table before she'd left. She pulled it out now, quickly leaving Matt a voicemail to meet her at the hospital. She hurried on, eventually seeing the bright white lights of the hospital off in the distance, and she sped up. When she entered the front door, there was frenzy in the main lobby. Nurses and doctors were running everywhere, patients were yelling, people were hacking all over the place. As Karen approached the front desk attendant, there was already a gangling, sick looking man standing there haranguing her unintelligibly, and the woman berated him right back. Karen stood behind the man in queue until he eventually wandered off and back outside into the night, and she then approached the desk.  
"Excuse me... I'm here to see Franklin Nelson, he was just brought in?"  
The woman glared up at her apathetically.  
“Only immediately family’s allowed up at this time,” she said mechanically.  
“I’m… I’m his sister.”  
The woman’s face was still deadpan. “Do you have identification?”, she asked.

Karen frisked herself up and down. Shit, she thought. In the rush to get over here, Karen realized she’d only remembered to grab her phone and her coat, but not her purse, and she was without her wallet. Karen stuttered at the nurse and she tried quickly to think of excuses, but a vaguely familiar dark-haired nurse walked up to her and interrupted.  
“Miss Nelson, I’m sorry. Come with me, he’s right this way,” she said. She pulled Karen down a dimly lit hall to another wing. Karen studied the nurse’s face. She had definitely seen this woman before, but could not for the life of her place where or when.  
"I'm sorry," Karen whispered as she followed. "Do we know each other?"  
"A little, through proxy," she whispered back as they zipped through the halls. "I'm a friend of Foggy's, kind of, and a friend of Matt's..."  
"A friend of Matt's or a friend of..."  
"Both. I'm Claire. And you're Karen?" she said extending her bare hand to shake Karen's. Karen reached back and nodded affirmatively. "So, Foggy, how is he doing?"  
"He's holding up," Claire said. "He has a sadistically dislocated shoulder, some bruising and lacerations on his face, a little concussed too. He's got this..." Claire circularly motioned at the back of neck, "... weird cut on the back of his neck. Here, see for yourself." She trailed off as she led Karen into a private room where Foggy lay on a bed bandaged. His eyes lit up when he saw Karen, but again, he was all business when he spoke.  
"Karen, what the hell is going on?" he yelled over to her as she approached his bedside. "Who is this crazy, bald, lunatic, PSYCHO after you, and how does he know who I am?"

Karen was now sitting in an unstable wooden chair next to Foggy's bed, stroking his good arm over a white knit blanket. As they looked at each other, Karen began to cry again. She was so terribly sorry he was involved in this; Foggy in trouble was truly almost the last thing she'd every wish to see. Not to mention, she would have to explain to him why it was she was being followed by Bullseye. She had kept this secret from Foggy for so long, and it frightened her immensely to consider how he would react. Karen turned to Claire.  
"Is there any way you could just give us a minute?" she asked innocently.  
"It's fine," Foggy said. "Claire's fine. She knows a lot about us and, you know..." Karen, however, asked Claire again.  
"Please, do you mind?"  
Claire raised her hands. "Of course, I've got some other patients, anyway. I'll be back soon to check your vitals, though, so..." She eyed Karen and Foggy suggestively. "May wanna make it quick." She left the room, and Karen turned back to Foggy, lowered her hand from his arm to clasp his hand. She was still crying.  
"This isn't the part where you tell me you've been in love with me this whole time, is it? Because things with me and Marci are going really good right now and..."  
"Foggy, please," Karen said with a sob. Foggy tried his best to push himself up to sitting with only his one arm, wincing as he did.  
"Jeez, Karen," he whimpered. His grip on her hand tightened. "Okay, okay, what's wrong? Tell me what's going on."

Before she spoke again, she remembered what Claire had told her about Foggy's neck. Just to be sure, Karen reached over for Foggy's head and delicately turned it away from her. Foggy let her, though he winced and gurgled with pain just slightly. She pulled off the taped gauze that had been placed there, and there it was, just as Karen suspected - crudely drawn, stitched-up cuts in the shape of a bulls-eye. Karen sat back in her chair, breathed in, and then out.  
"This is really bad, Foggy," she started. "Really bad. It's... this," she sniffed, "was Fisk. The guy who did this... the guy who's looking for me... Fisk sent him to kill me." Karen stopped to let a few more sobs through. Foggy's eye seemingly scanned the perimeter of the doorway before he leaned into her.  
"Wilson Fisk? Karen, he's been in jail for a year now! What does he want with you?!", he hissed.  
"That...", Karen sobbed. "That's the thing I guess...". She had to look up to the light to try to keep her tears in while she said this, and because she couldn't look Foggy in the face as she told him.  
"Right before... right before he was arrested... Fisk... Fisk found out that Ben... Ben Urich and I... we went looking for his mother... to dig around... he found out. He sent that... that Wesley guy, his assistant... to come scare me... I thought he would've... would've killed me. I shot him... before he had a chance... and he died... he died... I... I killed him, Foggy... I killed Wesley, and... Fisk is trying to kill me too... and I don't know... how this guy found you... or what... what his big plan is... but he's coming for me, Foggy..."

Karen trailed off, focusing on getting her breathing back to normal. Foggy hadn't released her hand, but when she looked back at him in the bed, he wasn't looking back. His eyes were fixed the ground, and the look in them was very painful for Karen to place. It was disappointment. Foggy looked down at the floor utterly heartbroken. Yet, he pressed her.  
"So who is this guy?"  
"His name... He calls himself Bullseye. Foggy's mouth twitched and nodded sideways, as if to say "makes sense".  
Karen continued, "He's... he's a shooter... he's a good one, too. Frank says..."  
At this, however, Foggy threw away Karen's hand and grimaced meanly.  
"Frank?!", he yelled. "Frank Castle. Really, Karen.”  
“It’s not what you think, Foggy!”, Karen cried. “He’s been helping me, he and Matt, we’re trying to stop this guy together.”  
“Karen, why didn’t you go to the police?!” Foggy hissed. “Hell, Karen even I could’ve helped you! I’m a lawyer, for Christ’s sake, and that’s a clear-cut case of murder in self-defense!” Karen heard his voice quiver at the word “murder”, but he continued.  
“Instead, you have to go running after Frank Castle to help you?! The freaking KING of murderers?! Where did you even find that nut job?! I mean, fighting one psycho with another is beyond me, beyond you!”  
Karen tensed her fists and tucked in her bottom lip, her gaze set angry and intense at Foggy.  
“Frank is not a psycho, Foggy. You know that. And he found me,” she asserted.  
“Oh, so great, you’ve got two killers following you,” Foggy huffed. 

Karen rose from her seat, arms and legs taut as she peered over Foggy enraged.  
“Frank has done nothing but protect and look after me tirelessly, ever since the case, Foggy. I trust my life in the hand’s of Frank Castle more than any crooked cop, any masked vigilante, in this entire city…” Karen paused to catch her breath, but before she could continue, a commotion from out in the hallway distracted her. She heard the bustling voices of hospital workers whizz by the room.  
“Found this guy bleeding out on the sidewalk, single gun shot wound directly to the heart, lacerations to the forehead. He’s losing blood fast…”  
They trailed off as the nurses and EMT’s raced the gurney through the halls. The words echoed in Karen’s brain. Single gunshot would directly to the heart. Karen looked on at Foggy, who stared at her puzzled. The guy never missed, Karen thought as she backed out of the room and looked out at the galloping stretcher. She tried hurriedly to catch a glimpse of the person being wheeled away, but could not. She began to nimbly pace out behind them.  
“Karen!”, Foggy yelled out after her, but she nevertheless clipped on. 

They had brought the nameless victim into an operating room at the end of the hallway. Karen could hear the frantic cries of nurses and doctors growing louder as she approached. She looked around as she came closer; it appeared every worker on the floor had spilled into this one operating room, and the halls were completely empty. She was now only ten feet away, and she stopped there to listen to what was going on. The doctors were setting up to operate, she thought. She hung around outside for about ten minutes as she heard the doctors barking at nurses, word’s she’d only heard used on doctor shows on TV, but ultimately she heard a very familiar, tragic sound begin to ring out from the room – the loud, monotonous tone of a flat line. Karen halted to exhale a loud sigh of respect, and took the last few steps towards the operating room door, which had a small, face-level window on either flap. Karen peeked inconspicuously through the left window, still unable to see the victim’s face through the wall of moving scrubbed bodies. She waited patiently until a small hole between people formed in front of victim’s face. As Karen morbidly expected, she had recognized it. It was the face of a boy, who’s name she shamefully did not remember, who had taken her on a date of sorts to Josie’s on the night she was attacked in the alley. On his forehead was yet another crudely engraved bulls-eye.  
* * *  
Frank sauntered down the long-abandoned streets of Hell’s Kitchen like no one knew his name, and armed heavily. He let Karen run ahead of him so he could prepare. If the sharpshooter son of a bitch had been there, mostly likely he would be long gone from that office by now, never stayed in the same place for too long. That wouldn’t stop Frank from looking, though, and even though Karen was out here on her own somewhere, Frank had faith that Bullseye – and he shuddered at the stupidity of the name – wouldn’t try anything again tonight. So, he took his time getting to her, though he’d be lying if blips of the worst didn’t flash through his brain a few times. It usually did. She was strong, though, and she was stubborn, more than Frank gave her credit for. She could protect herself, but he would prefer to do it for her.

Frank turned the corner onto 45th Street, and just as he’d suspected, any police activity or commotion was long gone. There were only the usual suspects left – couple of turned over trashcans, rats, singular parked car. All else was quiet. Frank never let go of the notion that quiet often meant too quiet, especially in Manhattan, so he continued along the sidewalk on alert. It was unfortunate to him in this moment that he was unable to give Karen a walkie-talkie, or anything like that. He wanted to know if she was still around, if that friend of hers, the pudgy lawyer, was doing alright, or if he was dead. Karen liked him, Frank knew, so for the sake of that Frank hoped he wasn’t the dead one. He imagined quickly Karen’s face, swollen and crying like he’d seen it too many times in the passed few days, tears falling down her cheeks, right on to her pale pink lips. He hoped her friend wasn’t the dead one, and he hoped he could…

Phheewwwwtttttttt.

A sharp whistle bore through the silence, and suddenly Frank felt a stinging hot pain plow into his left breast, knocking him back onto the sidewalk, smacking his head hard onto the paved street. He looked up into the dark sky stunned, groping at the breastplate of his bulletproof vest, and he suspected, he’d been shot. Frank felt the bullet lodged in right above his heart, yanking it out and examining it. It came from a sniper rifle, but from the angle he could tell it came from a very close range. He could here footsteps inching towards him in his daze.  
“Goddamn vest…” he heard a voice complain. Frank saw the shadow of Bullseye approaching him in his peripheral.  
“Well, hey there buddy!” Bullseye snickered down at him. He approached Frank, taking a cross-legged seat right on top on Frank’s chest. Frank gritted his teeth and moaned angrily from the pressure.  
“Long time, no see there, huh?” Bullseye continued. “Oh, and by the way, while I have you here…” Bullseye leaned forward and drilled his fist into Frank’s mouth.  
“That’s for that thing with the Colombians,” he continued as he sat back again onto Frank’s chest, his hands forcing Frank’s arms down on the ground. He sneered devilishly down at Frank. “So, to what pleasure do I owe an appearance by Frank Castle, huh? How’s the family?”

Frank began writhing ferociously underneath Bullseye as Bullseye cackled. Frank tried to grab at a pistol holstered at his side, but the angel he needed to reach up at them was impossible to achieve as he was pinned.  
“If you fucking touch her,” Frank gurgled, blood in his mouth. “You touch… one hair on her, I will rip your head off, you piece of shit.”  
“Her?!” Bullseye answered enthusiastically, a twinkle appearing in his eyes. “You’re not referring to little Miss Karen Page, are you? You’re here for her?” He laughed again. “Are you the one who’s bangin’ her?”  
Frank thrashed around again. “You son of a bitch,” he yelled., spitting the blood from his mouth up and onto Bullseye’s clothes and chin. “I will fucking kill you, do you understand me? You kill her and I will gut you, you hear me?! I’ll fucking rip you to pieces! Feed you to dogs, you hear me?!”

Bullseye took his long, thin tongue out of his mouth and traced the edges of his teeth as he lowered his head close to Frank.  
“Oh, then I guess I won’t kill her right away then, huh? Maybe I’ll… tie her up somewhere nice, huh? Give her a little kiss or two, I think she’ll like that, huh, Frankie boy? She like that? Then maybe, maybe find a big ole’ knife somewhere. Trace it along that nice pale skin she’s got. Listen to her scream. Ooh, yeah, that sounds real good. Then, when she’s all done, she’s lookin’ at me with those pretty little eyes, beggin’ for mercy, life just slippin’ right on outta her… maybe that’s when I’ll do her in, huh? When she’s all spent. Pow. Right through the skull. Such a shame to have to put away such a sweet piece of ass like that. Oh well, money talks in this world, I guess, huh Frankie? And maybe, just maybe, if you’re a good boy, and you don’t go getting’ in my way…” Bullseye leaned closer to Frank, inches from his face. “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

Frank was bouncing underneath Bullseye, red with the most intense anger and hatred he’d felt in a very long time.  
“You mother fucker!” Frank yelled. “You mother FUCKER!” Frank feverishly reached for the gun at his waist. Bullseye felt him, and with another snicker and a deep lean in, Bullseye laid another hard right hook into Frank’s face.  
“You stay out of my way, Frankie,” he said between blows. Mercilessly, he pummeled him, until Frank lay, very close to unconscious, in a bloody pulp on the sidewalk. He felt Bullseye lift himself up off him, spilling his laughs out into the wind as he backed away from Frank out into the shadows again.  
“Don’t go getting’ in my way, you hear me?” Bullseye called to him. “You may not be wearin’ that vest next time!” Frank lay panting, gargling the blood in his mouth for only a minute or so. He reached his pistol finally, but as he sprung up with it ready to fire, Bullseye was already out of sight somewhere. Frank pushed himself off the concrete, still terribly dazed, his entire face swollen and bludgeoned. He knew he didn’t have much time now.  
* * *  
Karen looked on through the window at the boy from Josie’s as doctors pulled a white sheet over his face and began to wheel him towards the door to be moved. Karen quickly scooted out of the way, sauntering down back to Foggy’s room in a hope to look less suspicious. From behind her though, she heard someone call her name.  
“Karen!”  
She turned to see a scrubbed-up Claire running towards her, a protective cover still over her mouth from the operation. She leered at Karen intensely.  
“That’s the same thing that’s on Foggy’s neck, isn’t it?!” she yelled. She stomped right up into Karen’s face, throwing the mouth cover off.  
“What the hell is going on here, Karen?”  
Karen continued back to Foggy’s room, Claire close behind.  
“It’s… it’s complicated,” Karen started. “But there may be more people who are in a lot of danger. We can’t call the police…”

They had reached the door to Foggy’s room, where they found Foggy looking at them with concerned curiosity.  
“What the hell was that?!” he yelled over to them. “What happened?”  
“He got another one,” Karen started, still frozen in the door way.  
“Who is he?!” Claire yelled. She looked back and forth between Karen and Foggy.  
“If there is someone out there endangering this hospital and these patients AGAIN, you two HAVE to tell me…”  
As she yelled, Karen looked over haphazardly at the large paneled window in Foggy’s room. She quickly reached over and grabbed Claire by the arm tightly, causing Claire to end her diatribe prematurely. Karen stared at the window, eyes wide, mouth agape, face flushed, a look of absolute hopeless terror. Claire looked at Karen, and then over to the window. Foggy joined. The three looked on at the window bewildered.  
“Is that…” Claire started. “You?” Pasted to the outside of the glass was a candid picture of Karen taken a few weeks ago of her picking up a tray of coffees in a cream blouse and navy skirt. Crassly written on the picture in thick red marker in all capital letters was the word “GOTCHYA”.

A huge crash of glass broke them out of their trance.


End file.
